


Milk

by whatsherquirk



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Parents, Breeding, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Lactation, Lactation Kink, Mommy Kink, Parenthood, Public Sex, Semi-Public Sex, jean says mommy A Lot, very light breeding I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-26
Updated: 2021-02-26
Packaged: 2021-03-16 23:02:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29707890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatsherquirk/pseuds/whatsherquirk
Summary: Jean puts a hand to the middle of your back. “Please, tell me what’s happening. You’re freaking me out.”The pain ebbs and flows, sharper one moment and duller the next. Once you can finally get a breath in, you turn to him. “My tits hurt so bad. They’re too full.”--It’s your first night out as a couple since your daughter was born. Your body has done amazing things, but you’re going to need Jean’s help when you start to leak.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Reader, Jean Kirstein/You
Comments: 13
Kudos: 148





	Milk

**Author's Note:**

> Previously posted to my tumblr @whats-her-quirk. I've never been so turned on while writing something in my life, and that should tell you all you need to know about me.

_“I’ll stay here, you two go ahead and have fun.”_ Jean’s mother had been all too eager when you got the group text from Sasha. Niccolo had just proposed, and they wanted everyone to come out to the cocktail bar they were at and celebrate with them. You had sighed wistfully, realizing how much you missed your friends. Your social life had been mostly put on hold for the past month since your daughter was born—justifiably so. You and Jean were both completely smitten with her, plus getting the hang of this ‘new parent’ thing had been pretty intense. You’d never been away from your baby since she was born, never more than a few paces away whenever she needed you, so the possibility of going somewhere without her hadn’t even crossed your mind.

It was already past her usual bedtime, not to mention cold outside. It was a spur of the moment invitation, something you hadn’t planned ahead for. But in spite of all the reasons not to go, Jean’s mother was already over for dinner and more than willing to stay with your daughter while you went out for the first time since she was born. You’d glanced at your husband hesitantly, but he left the decision up to you. “We’ll do whatever you want to do, babe.”

After chewing your lip for a while and some light nudging from Jean’s mother— _”You deserve a little break, don’t worry about a thing, I’ll put her to bed and stay as long as you need…”_ —you agree.

It takes a while for you to find something decent to wear, as the cross section of what’s nice enough to wear to this swanky bar and what actually fits you right now doesn’t leave you with many options. Ultimately, you find the nicest dress you have that also conceals the thick straps of your nursing bra and toss a cardigan over top. All that’s left is to grab the essentials out of the diaper bag and toss them in one of your nicer purses, and the next thing you know, you and Jean are sitting side by side on barstools, chatting with your friends as soft jazz music pumps out of the speakers.

A few of them, namely Sasha and Mikasa, are disappointed that your little girl is nowhere to be seen, though they’ve met her before. You and Jean are the first of the group to have a kid, which is fascinating to some of your friends while others could not be less interested. Still, every time someone asks about her, your stomach flips. It’s not that you don’t trust Jean’s mother; quite the contrary. You know your baby’s in capable hands, it’s just that you’re worried that she misses you. That she needs you. You stare straight ahead into the mirror behind the bar, fretting over what’s happening at home.

Jean puts a finger to your chin and points your eyes toward his; he must sense you worrying. “You ok? We can go home whenever you want to.” He gives you a sweet smile, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He’s missing his little princess too, but he’s doing his best not to show it, for your sake. Even when Marco claps a hand on his shoulder and asks if he wants to do shots, he doesn’t look away, waiting for your answer before he gives his.

You shake the nervousness off. This is your next big test as a new mom, and you’re gonna do your best to make it through the night without rushing home because of a little separation anxiety. Sooner or later, you’ll need to get used to this. “No, we can stay a while.”

Jean leans in for a quick kiss, petting your hair softly before he pulls back. “Just keep me posted.” He pecks your forehead once more before turning around to throw back that shot.

You’re playing designated driver tonight, but you don’t mind. You’re mostly staying away from alcohol until you’re done breastfeeding anyway. Getting the timing right is just too difficult, so it’s easier to just stay mostly sober for at least a few more months. And since Jean’s mom will be around to lend a hand later tonight if you need it, you don’t mind if he gets a little drunk. He’s been a fantastic partner through all this, so he deserves a little break too.

You’re chuckling at the guys fighting over who gets to buy Niccolo’s next drink when a twinge and then a dull pain steals your attention. As discreetly as you can, you reach under your left arm with your right hand to rub at the side of your breast. Shit. The invitation had come so suddenly that you left the house without thinking to pump your milk. There were bottles in the fridge, plenty ready if your girl got hungry while you were away. You hadn’t felt particularly _full_ before you left the house, but you were starting to get a little tight.

But you _just_ said you wanted to stay, and it’s not too bad yet. You try and forget as Sasha slides into Jean’s abandoned seat to show you her ring again. You’ll stay a little longer, you think, as you fawn over her gorgeous pearl set in diamonds.

‘A little longer’ turns into an hour, a move from the bar to a booth, and a few more rounds of drinks for Jean and the gang. You sip on a Shirley Temple, shifting uncomfortably every few minutes. You can tell Jean is having a good time, catching up with everyone and telling stories about his little princess that make you beam with pride. You’re fine, you assure yourself. You’ll pump as soon as you get home.

While the booth is more comfortable than the bar, especially since you’re situated on the end seat, it is warmer down here. When you feel yourself starting to sweat, you slink out of your cardigan, folding it in your lap. You feel cooler yet more exposed. This dress showed a lot of cleavage before your breasts swelled in pregnancy, still plump and almost spilling over the low neckline. You’re not the only one who notices; when Jean leans over to ask you something, you catch his eyes flicking down and back up again. He sucks in a sharp breath, and his hand finds its way to your thigh under the table, thumb rubbing little circles into your leg as he licks his lips, not subtle enough.

Under his hand, your knee bounces. You should say something, just tell him you need to go home, but it feels too late now, somehow. Your breasts are almost unbearably tight, under pressure that you wish you could just will away. You find yourself holding your breath until you feel a sudden tension squeeze your left breast. You hiss as you feel your nipple leak, and though you thank your stars that you wore one of your special absorbent bras, the pressure is too much.

You grit your teeth and hiss again as the pain pulses, forcing you to stand from the table. You have to get to somewhere private right now: a bathroom, anything. You curse yourself, _stupid, stupid,_ as you grab your purse and cardigan.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Jean asks. He’s flushed but not wasted, soft but not slurring, and obviously concerned. You can’t stand around here and explain, not in front of your friends and especially not when your tits are killing you. Instead, you grab him by the wrist and pull him away too quickly to judge if anyone notices your urgency.

You walk with purpose, weaving through people standing at the bar or congregating around cocktail tables, conversation at a dull roar over the music tinkling from the sound system. Jean tries repeatedly to ask what’s going on, but you’re working with one track mind, desperate for relief. In a back hallway, you find a single-occupancy bathroom and drag Jean inside and lock the door, hardly caring who sees and what they think.

It’s a nice bar, so the bathroom is clean and decently well-decorated, if a little small. You toss your purse and sweater on the countertop and bend forward over the sink. Jean puts a hand to the middle of your back. “Please, tell me what’s happening. You’re freaking me out.”

The pain ebbs and flows, sharper one moment and duller the next. Once you can finally get a breath in, you turn to him. “My tits hurt so bad. They’re too full.”

The look on his face is a bit dumbfounded, like maybe he hadn’t considered that such a thing was possible. “Did you bring the pump?”

You hold up your miniature handbag, agitated but only at yourself. “I left it in the diaper bag. Wouldn’t have fit in here anyway.” You hiss again, and Jean lunges for you, his hands rubbing your hips.

“Baby, you should have said something sooner.” His voice is soft, laced with concern and pity.

You shake your head. “I know, I know, but I have to do something about this. Like right now. Fuck.” You’re not really thinking about anything but the straining in your chest as you push down the straps of your dress. The entire top falls around your waist, and you don’t waste any time unclipping the strap of your nursing bra from the cup.

The tiniest wave of relief washes over you as the cup falls forward your breast bounces free. You do the same with the other cup before pushing down the band of your bra, bunching it around your waist with your dress. You swear you can feel the milk sloshing inside you, almost too full to move. When you lift one tit in your hand, your nipple leaks again. Without something to absorb it, a dribble of breast milk runs down to the underside of your breast. You’re practically dripping.

“Oh, baby,” Jean breathes, concerned and mesmerized all at once. Carefully not to press against your tits with his chest, he slides his hands around you, his chin pointed down as he watches your full breasts jiggle at the slightest motion. When the pain stabs you again and your back arches away from it, you can’t stop the little groan that slips out.

Twitchy hands move from your hips to your face. “Let me help,” Jean says a little too desperately. “If I suck on your tits a little, will that make it hurt less?”

You’re not in a position to turn him down. “Please, I’ll try anything.” Jean helps you up to sit on the edge of the counter, and you open your legs for him to stand between. You lean back on the heels of your hands as his lips drag down your neck, over your collarbone and down to your swollen breast. When his tongue swipes over the peak of your nipple, you gasp.

He pulls back. “Did it hurt?”

“No,” you pant, pleasantly surprised. “No, it felt good. Don’t stop.” You lean back farther so your tree of a husband doesn’t have to couch over so far to reach your chest. Jean’s eyes widen before he breaks your gaze, leaning down mouth-first to capture your nipple gently between his lips.

He moves slowly at first, like he’s unsure and wary of hurting you. He licks over your nipple with the tip of his tongue, shuddering when he tastes your leaking milk before flicking his tongue out for more. Feather light, he wraps his lips around your enlarged breast and sucks very hesitantly. When you hum instead of gasp, he continues.

A thigh and ass man through and through, Jean doesn’t always give your tits this kind of attention. While he’s sucked plenty of hickies into the soft skin of them and played with your nipples to stimulate you, it’s never been quite like this. But admittedly, your breasts have never looked like this, never _felt_ like this either.

So when Jean lifts his head to meet your eyes, eyebrows furrowed as if he’s overwhelmed, and sighs, “Oh god,” you know you’ve stumbled into something much bigger than just dulling your pain.

Jean kisses at your nipple again, pressing his stomach against yours as he sucks, harder this time. You tilt your head fully back, neck exposed to the ceiling, and moan quietly as he takes care of you.

Jean doesn’t just taste you; he gulps, sucking down the milk that starts to flow freely from your pebbled nipple. He breathes hard through his nose, little sounds dampened against the mound of your breast as he presses his face in harder. His nose brushes in your cleavage, the stubble on his chin tickling just above your rib cage. When he lifts his hand to palm under the curve of your tit and squeeze, the liquid pours out faster and he slurps obscenely around you.

“Oh fuck,” he curses when he finally breaks for air. “Shit, oh my god. Is it helping?”

“Yeah,” you pant desperately, reaching to stroke his long, pushed back hair. A drop of your milk runs from the corner of Jean’s mouth, leaving a wet track down his chin that makes you moan and spread your legs further apart.

“Fuck,” he curses again. _“Fuck, mommy.”_ The word barely leaves his lips before he’s attached to you again, but it spurs a burning urge that drips between your legs. He’s never called you that before, not in a sexual context, and you never expected it would make you this wet.

Your legs wrap around Jean’s waist, knees pressing into his ribcage and ankles locked against his lower back. He tugs on your thigh with his free hand, pulling it tight against him as he continues to suck and squeeze at your tit. You breathe hard, grinding your core against his stomach for a little bit of friction so you don’t cry out. Jean, on the contrary, only gets louder the more he drinks you in, moaning and begging for you as his mouth gets sloppier.

 _“Oh god, mommy. I love you so much. Just let me take care of you, mommy, please. So good.”_ The louder he whines, the more you start to wonder if the walls are thin enough to hear through. This isn’t some dive bar, after all.

You grasp Jean by the jaw, pulling him off your chest. His chin is soaked, his eyes glazed. He stares at you, pleading and needy as he tongue darts out to lick at his bottom lip. You let out a heavy exhale because damn does he look sexy like this, but you have to hold it together.

_“Do the other one, but you have to be quieter. Or else I’ll make you stop.”_

Jean nods his head and whimpers. You tuck a strand of hair behind his ear, stroking the back of his head as you do. You pucker your lips for a kiss, tasting yourself on him as his mouth lands on yours. “Good boy,” you sigh when he pulls back.

A groan hitches in Jean’s throat, but he’s able to keep it down, earning his praise. You shift under him, twisting just a bit to offer up your other breast, and Jean indulges. His tongue swirls around your nipple first, and though you feel a jolt when he closes his lips and slurps, you squirm in pleasure as you feel the pressure in your chest begin to dissipate. You watch as his eyes close and his brows crease, lost in the taste and feel of your heavy breast in his mouth and his hand. He moans quietly in his throat, the vibrations thrumming your pert nipple.

Jean opens his mouth to pant around you before squeezing your tit in his hand, practically squirting your milk down his throat. You twitch and moan softly, your legs clamped around his waist like a vice. His cock is hard against your ass, incredibly so, and you’re turned on because he’s turned on.

 _“Mommy, oh fuck, yes,”_ he whines in a whisper. He pulls back to lick his lips only to let them slide, wet and sloppy, over your tit again, pressing hard kisses to the underside of the mound that make your eyes roll back in your head. “Do you feel better?” he pants hard against your side.

You grab frantically at his hair, his shoulders, wanting him closer, desperate to be filled now that you’re so empty. “Yes, baby,” you sigh, reaching down to palm his erection. “Do you want me to help you with this now?”

“Oh god,” is all the answer you get, but you hear it loud and clear. Jean unzips his pants while you wiggle and hike your skirt up around your hips. Your legs dangle loosely around him until he pulls his stiff cock above his waistband and moves forward to rub it against you. The hard ridges of his shaft feel heavenly against your cunt, even through your panties. He ruts against you, dry humping as his lips find your neck, impossibly hungry for more of you. Your toes curl as you pull your panties to the side. You’d be embarrassed about how wet you are if your husband hadn’t just been sucking your tits like a man starved.

With your thighs anchored at his waist, Jean eases forward, swirling his tip around your hole to lube up. He hisses and groans, the sounds growing louder again, but this time you don’t care. You’ve been gone long enough already; your friends will suspect you’re up to something, but it doesn’t matter. All that you care about is the glorious stretch when Jean pushes into you, you realize, for the first time since your daughter was born.

You feel ready for this; you want it more than anything, missing the feeling of being filled completely by him. Every muscle in his body is tight as he rocks slowly into you, holding you firmly against his chest as he does. “You ok?” he asks breathlessly.

“God, yes.” You swear you can feel him inside, outside, all over you at once, and you’re ready to give your body over and succumb almost as soon as you’ve begun. “I’m not going to last long.”

“Me neither,” he says through gritted teeth as he grinds into you, thrusting in and massaging deep inside your walls, sending a flurry of butterflies to your stomach. Your legs and feet clench behind him as your gut tightens around his throbbing cock, dizzy and close to your breaking point. Jean gasps for air, moaning with his mouth wide open as he snaps his hips against you. A particular shuddering groan sends you over the edge, your cunt squeezing down hard around him as you silently scream in release.

Jean moves faster, hurtling toward his own end in your pussy’s vicelike grip, murmuring _mommy_ with every breath until he shatters. His cum spills inside you, hot and thick, sliding out of you when he pulls out. He slides your panties back into place, pressing over your hole with two long fingers, to hold in what’s trying to seep out. He leans forward, one hand on the mirror behind your head as his forehead comes to rest on your shoulder. You pet at his hair, smoothing it down as best you can as he catches his breath.

“That was,” he pants, “not what I expected was going to happen tonight.” He chuckles lightly, and you can’t help but do the same. It’s absurd, in a way, but you can’t say you regret it, even considering how uncomfortable you were for a minute there. Now that you’ve discovered his mommy kink, you don’t plan on letting him forget it, either.

Once Jean has collected himself, he helps you get dressed again, slightly sore but no longer throbbing breasts tucked back into your bra and dress. You opt to put your cardigan back on when you spy the hickies dotted across your chest and neck in the mirror. Your absence together is suspicious enough. You hurry out of the bathroom, feeling flushed and sweaty, with slick and cum dampening your panties, but what else are you going to do?

The party has broken up a bit when you return, your friends spread out across the bar and different booths from where you left them. You and Jean lean close together against the wall, waiting to say goodbye to the happy new couple before you head out to the car. Jean’s hand remains around your waist, holding you against his side as he plays with a ruffle on your dress.

Low enough for only you to hear, he says, “Your body is amazing, you know that?”

Your chest flutters, a smile blooming on your lips. “Thanks.”

He chuckles. “I mean it. It’s done and changed so much, it’s beautiful.” He nudges you, knows he’s being silly now but also somehow sincere at the same time. It’s the kind of easy ribbing you’re used to from him. “I swear, since you got pregnant, it’s just the gift that keeps on giving.”

You lace your fingers clumsily with his. “Maybe you should try knocking me up again sometime.”

Jean pulls you in for a kiss. “Oh, I plan on it,” he mumbles against your lips.


End file.
